My sister lives in Tokyo. We video call every Sunday, but it’s not the same—no hugging when she’s sad, no stealing her fries at dinner. Last week, she sent me a package: matcha cookies (my favorite) and a photo of her by a cherry tree. “Wish you were here,” she wrote. I ate a cookie, and it tasted like home. Missing someone is hard, but it’s also a gift—it means you have someone worth missing. Every cookie, every call, every photo reminds me our love is bigger than miles.​

My sister lives in Tokyo. We video call every Sunday, but it’s not the same—no hugging when she’s sad, no stealing her fries at dinner. Last week, she sent me a package: matcha cookies (my favorite) and a photo of her by a cherry tree. “Wish you were here,” she wrote. I ate a cookie, and it tasted like home. Missing someone is hard, but it’s also a gift—it means you have someone worth missing. Every cookie, every call, every photo reminds me our love is bigger than miles.​

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